


Baby It's Cold Outside

by startwithsparks



Series: Stranger Danger [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, Light BDSM, M/M, Underage Drinking, Wrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has been trying to get Stiles alone again for a while, and after a pack dinner, he gets the perfect opportunity to finally have what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the classic holiday tune of the same name. Since there are already Christmas songs playing in the stores, I figure it's not too early to post this and get you all warmed up for the holidays. My personal favorite version is [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RezovNvSvV8), but I'm not too sure if Peter would agree with me...

Stiles watched the rear lights on Derek's car as they faded into the fog and drizzle and eventually disappeared around a corner into the forest, then let his forehead thunk against the cold glass of the window. The pack, which apparently included him now as well, had all come over to the Hale house to celebrate the construction being completed. It wasn't really _completely_ finished, but they had repaired the structure, got the walls and floors put up, and all that remained was some details like wallpaper, paint, and carpeting in a few more of the rooms - the kind of things that could be done around the people living there. The kitchen needed some work too - they were using cardboard boxes for cabinets at the moment - but that was still one of the "later" things. The important part was that Derek and his uncle had a solid roof over their heads before winter set in; it seemed like just in time too.

Turning his gaze towards his poor old Jeep sitting out there in the rain - which had just turned from a light drizzle to a full onslaught - he steadily began to dread the drive home in this crap. His baby wasn't all that great in regular rain, but with as cold as it was tonight, there was no way this wouldn't turn into freezing rain or maybe even snow by morning. He groaned, a jumble of noises that came together to make a sound like a very tiny hippo being squashed by a fat giraffe, and lulled his head to the side.

"I don't wanna..." he muttered to himself.

Maybe if he'd been a werewolf too he would have noticed that someone was standing right next to him. As it happened, the chuckle he got from Peter made him jump and flail slightly at the man's reflection in the window. He frowned.

"Why don't you just wait until Derek gets back," Peter said, holding out a bottle of PranQster to him. "It looks like shit out there."

Stiles just stared at the beer uncertainly. His kneejerk reaction was to refuse, because his dad was a cop and he would flip if he found out Stiles had been drinking (again). But if he was going to wait for Derek, it wasn't like he'd be driving home. He drew his face into an uncertain expression, awkwardly chewing on the corner of his lower lip.

Peter leaned in, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I'm not your dad," he said.

He didn't need much more encouragement after that, and he offered Peter a nonchalant shrug as he reached out for that already open bottle. He leaned against the wall next to the window, still staring out at the rain, while Peter returned to the sofa. Stiles remembered from being here before the remodel that there had been a fireplace there, where a television sat now, but he wasn't surprised to see it replaced with a smooth wall and a flea market television stand. The family had to have some residual aversion to fire, at least, considering how many years Peter spent a half-baked vegetable. Suddenly glad that werewolves couldn't read minds, Stiles turned back to the window, taking a heavy gulp and choking as the beer hit the back of his throat. He sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He could almost hear the smirk in Peter's voice when he spoke, "Not used to proper beer, are you?" he asked, not even bothering to glance over the back of the couch. "It's a little stronger than that watered-down swill you kids drink at all your parties..."

"Do you realize how old you sound right now?" Stiles asked, glaring at him as he took another scrutinizing sip. This time it went down a little easier, but he still wasn't entirely sure what he thought of it.

"You should come sit down," Peter offered, ignoring the comment. "He's not going to back for a while and there's no sense in you standing there staring out the window." He glanced back, reaching a hand up to motion for Stiles to come over. "I won't bite."

He smirked back at him and rolled his eyes. "I'm sure," Stiles muttered, but he pushed away from the wall and made his way into the other room, walking around the other side of the couch and dropping down with a huff. He propped his foot up on the table, balancing the beer bottle on the arm of the couch. "I really should get home soon, though..." he said, picking at the label on the bottle with his thumb. "Not that I'm in a rush to get out of here or anything, but my dad gets home in an hour and-"

"The roads will be slick," Peter cut in, "and you still haven't replaced that headlight. I'm sure the last thing your dad would want is to have to scrape you off the side of the road tonight."

Stiles had to admit that was a good point, and the Jeep was already in rough enough shape that he didn't need to risk hitting an icy patch and skidding off the side of the road. They built those things to roll, though; he didn't think that he'd die if he did, but he could just see Scott overreacting and biting him, trying to save his life. That was not exactly the way he wanted to spend his holidays - trying to figure out how to control his inner wolf instead of chowing down on turkey and opening presents. So he hunkered down further in the corner of the couch and steadily sipped at his beer, watching Peter idly flip channels.

"Dinner was good," Stiles said over the rim of his beer, just trying to make idle conversation, but Peter just flashed him a smile and went back to ignoring him in favor of the television. He wasn't sure why, but that sort of bothered him, and he found himself glancing over furtively, trying to figure out if Peter was paying any attention to him at all. "This beer isn't half bad either," he added a moment later, glancing at the bottle to see that he'd already drank most of it. He didn't even realize he'd put back that much, so the realization struck him a little.

That time Peter actually looked at him for longer than half a second, though. "I'm glad," he replied, inspecting the bottle. "Do I need to get you another one."

Stiles pulled an uncertain face. "I probably shouldn't," he answered. "My dad would freak out if I came in smelling like beer."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "But?" he asked.

He sunk down in the corner of the couch, trying to squish himself into as small a ball as he could. He swigged the last of it down and, without looking at him, thrust the bottle in Peter's direction. He probably shouldn't admit that it wasn't half bad letting his friend's creepy uncle get him drunk, but as long as Peter was offering hospitality, Stiles thought it was rude to refuse.

He tried to unfold himself once Peter got up, kicking his shoes back off under the table. It looked like he'd been sitting here a while. While he did think about the possible consequences of coming home drunk, he thought he could play it off as being tired and silly and vanish into his room before his father started asking questions. After the werewolf thing came to light he mostly stopped asking questions at all and started having weird late-night conversations with Scott's mom when the two of them apparently thought their kids were asleep. Instead, Stiles and Scott were giving each other a play-by-play on as much of the conversations as possible. They were actually kind of funny, with all their speculation, and while they agreed that they should ask their kids what was going on, neither of them wanted to actually ask for the details.

Stiles glanced over the back of the couch just as Peter came back in the living room, a couple of beers in one hand while he slipped his phone back in his pocket with the other. "Derek's running a bit late," he said nonchalantly, handing one of the bottles over the back of the couch to Stiles, who twist the top off with the edge of his hoodie sleeve.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, tossing the cap on the coffee table, which he propped his feet back up on as he settled in again.

Peter shrugged. "He didn't say," he answered. "But if it wasn't, I'm sure he'd mention something. Maybe he's just making sure all the betas get settled in for the night."

He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face, and tucked one foot up on the edge of the couch. "That's cool," he said, "I guess I could stay a bit longer."

Peter flashed him a toothy grin and cracked his beer open, draping an arm across the back of the couch. A quiet beat passed between them, with nothing but the television for noise, but Stiles could sense that Peter was thinking about saying something, even if he wasn't entirely sure why. Either way, it kept him somewhat on edge, waiting for him to speak up. He had the same problem with Scott, he thought too loud. The longer they went on not saying something the worse he fidgeted waiting for them to say it. People saw it as being jumpy or high-strung and he wasn't sure he could really dispute either, but mostly he was just impatient. He shifted again, this time crossing both his legs under him with an awkward shuffle and tucked his beer between his legs to yank his hoodie off and to the floor. He tugged his teeshirt back down, ran a hand through his hair, and settled back again only to catch Peter smirking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" he asked, pulling a face.

"Nothing," Peter snorted, shaking his head.

Stiles narrowed his gaze. " _What_?" he repeated.

For a moment Peter just looked at him, then he finally drew in a breath. "You realize that Derek has the emotional maturity of a brick, right? That's... not a recent development either, that's an always-been sort of thing."

He had a hard time not stammering out a retort and the best he could manage in response was a disgruntled huff and a sputter that sounded vaguely like another "What?" But Peter just went on smirking at him like he knew some huge secret.

"I'm not telling you to give up your really rather adorable crush on him - which everyone knows about, by the way - because it's your time that you're wasting. I'm just saying that if you're looking for the tall, dark, and brooding type but with some real emotional availability, you should probably look a bit... further along than my nephew."

Stiles pouted. He didn't figure that anyone cared enough to notice something like that, and the only one who might - namely, Scott - was too thick to connect the pieces anyhow. But Peter was creepy and observant of even the most inane details, which Stiles was really desperately trying to hold against him at the moment. Instead, he snorted and tried to pass the thing off with an air of casual dismissiveness. Naturally, he failed spectacularly, but at least he tried. "I don't... have a _crush_ on Derek, alright?" he protested. "He's just a big... stupid guy, who wears leather and drives a nice car. Me noticing doesn't equate to me liking. Or... crushing." He rolled his eyes over-dramatically. "Whatever."

"Right," Peter countered. "You're also a horrible liar, and drinking is only going to make you a _worse_ liar. But since it's already open, you might as well drink up." He dropped his hand from the back of the couch, using just his index finger to tip the bottle towards Stiles' mouth again.

He didn't fight the offer, taking another heavy swig. This time he didn't wince, even though it did choke a little going down. "And besides," he added, "I'm pretty sure I don't know anyone with emotional _and_ physical availability. It's usually a one or the other sort of thing." He realized quickly what he'd inferred and had the decency to blush. "Not that... It's not like I've ever..."

"You're digging yourself into a hole there, Stiles..."

When he looked over, Peter was staring at him, still grinning. He realized now where the term wolfish smile came from, because it was sitting on Peter's face now. "Would you stop that," he muttered.

"What?" Peter teased.

"Looking at me like you want to eat me."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Peter shifted, drawing one knee up on the couch and leaning forward with one hand propped next to Stiles' shoulder to invade his personal space. With that wolf-speed, Stiles hardly had time to react further than pressing back into the couch and staring wide-eyed back at him.

"Maybe I do," he growled, right next to Stiles' ear.

He shuddered, "I need an adult..."

"I am an adult," Peter offered.

"I need a _different_ adult."

Peter shifted and for a moment Stiles thought he was moving away, but he only dropped his hand to wrap snugly around Stiles' wrist, his nails biting into the flesh there. That did it, and Stiles couldn't explain why that did it, just that it twisted something deep in his gut and he whined low in the back of his throat.

"So unfair," he breathed.

Peter chuckled, "Now what were you saying about a _different_ adult?"

Swallowing thickly, Stiles thought for a moment about pulling away, but he was still struggling with whether he really wanted to. He tightened his grip on the beer bottle instead to compensate, heartbeat thudding hard. "Derek doesn't need much more reason to want to kill you again," he warned. But Peter gave a noncommittal hum and started sitting back, drawing Stiles' arm with him. "And I'm sure the Argents would love to hear that you've hurt another human."

That gave Peter some pause. "Who said anything about hurting you?" he asked. "I'm just offering an alternative."

Stiles was starting to lose what thread of self-control he had in the first place, taking a shaking drink from his beer and nearly choking on it when Peter's nails trailed up the inside of his arm. The feeling seemed to light up all of his nerves at once and Stiles wasn't entirely sure he liked that. It was one of those things that felt so good it almost cycled back around to pain again - or maybe it was the other way around, he wasn't really equipped to parse through that. He took in an unsteady breath, then leaned forward to set his beer on the table.

"Okay," he said, turning towards Peter. "But if anyone finds out about this, I'm going to tell them that you got me drunk and took advantage of me," he warned.

Peter growled faintly, "You insult me," he murmured. "As if I _had_ to get you drunk."

There was probably some truth to that, Stiles thought. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to Peter - because he would be blind to not be attracted to him - it was more that Peter had killed people, tried to kill his friends, manipulated Lydia from the grave, and was just an all-around incredibly creepy guy. But the one thing that stood out most to Stiles was that he offered the bite and accepted the fact that Stiles refused. It hadn't come up again since then. Despite his questionable methods and the ease at which he used other people the meet his ends, he seemed to have some sense of respect for other people as well; however minimal and sporadic it was.

Stiles knew he should get as far away as possible now, but it was really hard to say no to Peter. The distance between them had all but disappeared and Peter still had a tight hold on his wrist, making sure he didn't stray too far away. Stiles could have told him that he wasn't going to run off if he _did_ let go, but he rather suddenly lost all ability to think coherently at all when Peter lifted his wrist to his mouth and trailed his teeth slowly across the tender skin there. An unrestrained shudder of a groan escaped him, causing Peter to glance up, smirking around his wrist; a look that went straight to his gut.

He loosened his grip on Stiles' wrist enough that he could pull back if he wanted to, shifting off his knee to lean against the arm of the couch again. But Stiles didn't pull away, instead, he compensated for the movement by leaning forward, his free hand braced on Peter's knee.

"Are you sure Derek's not going to walk in," he asked, drawing his shoulders up a bit as he shot a look towards the front door.

"I'm certain," Peter answered, drawing Stiles forward a bit more. "Now stop worrying about Derek and come here..."

Stiles chewed on his lower lip for a moment, still waging his own internal battle over this. But he couldn't think of any more reasons why he shouldn't. His body steadily relaxed and he let Peter pull him in, closing the distance between them as he leaned against the older man, Peter quickly hooking his arm around Stiles' waist to tug him closer. He started to come forward, but then froze again, bracing a hand against Peter's chest to keep them from coming in contact just yet.

"Hold up..." he murmured.

Peter cast a look up at him. "What is it now?"

He chewed on the corner of his lip, shrugging his shoulders up tightly. "You're not trying to win a bet or anything, are you?" he asked.

"What?" Peter furrowed his brows, looking genuinely confused. "No, why would you ask that?"

Stiles shook his head, "I just always figured the first time this happened it would be because there was a bet involved somewhere; either because someone was trying to win a bet or because they already lost one."

Peter's expression actually softened and he slipped his other hand up to the back of Stiles' neck, slowly drawing him closer. "No," he breathed, close enough that the gust of warm air brushed across Stiles' lips. "And if I ever find out anyone _has_ made a bet involving you, I will find them and rip their throat out with my teeth."

He exhaled slowly, shaky and excited, "That shouldn't be hot as it is..."

"Shut up," Peter growled.

Stiles barely got out the edge of a "yes, sir" before Peter crushed their mouths together. He didn't even try to keep up with him, just let Peter take the lead and followed as well as he could. He'd made out with people before - though not many - that wasn't an issue, it was just that there was a pretty huge difference between kissing someone who was as awkward and fumbling as he was and kissing Peter. He knew that he had no idea what he was doing, but he'd always thought that other people did and now he was realizing how wrong he was. He drew his hands up to brace on Peter's chest, slowly lowering himself down until most of his weight rested against the older man, their legs tangled together. It was probably a fault of his age that just a kiss could get him going, but Stiles rolled down against the side of Peter's thigh, stifling a faint groan against the man's mouth as a shiver of pleasure twist through him.

He didn't know how far this was going to go and he didn't know how far he wanted it to go either. But as long as Peter kept kissing him like that - like he was trying to stake his claim on Stiles' mouth - he was sure he could be persuaded to do a lot. But Peter slid his hand around from the back of Stiles' neck to cuff his chin lightly instead, pulling back and leaving Stiles whining faintly on top of him. He grinned, and Stiles was about to ask him what was so amusing until Peter shifted his thigh to press up against him and Stiles' eyes nearly rolled back in his head. His breath trembled out of him and his fingers clenched tightly in Peter's shirt, not even caring when the man chuckled at him for his reaction. It was too good to care about holding back or about being laughed at for his reactions.

Peter dropped his hands to Stiles' hips, sliding them up and slowly under his shirt, his fingertips skating over Stiles' ribs and then over his chest until Stiles had no choice but pull back and let Peter tug his shirt off. He tried to press back down against Peter again afterward, but the man stopped him with one firm hand on his upper arm, holding him back to look at him.

"What a shame that Scott was the one who picked up on Derek's tendency to run around half-naked," he hummed thoughtfully, gaze roaming openly over pale skin.

Stiles felt a blush warm his skin, "Heh... yeah, because I could compete with a super werewolf physique," he muttered.

"Maybe not," Peter shrugged, hand sliding down to Stiles' forearm to grip him as he shifted forward. "But he's not half as pretty as you are."

He wanted to argue that pretty wasn't really comparable to being ripped like the rest of the boys that wandered in and out of the pack house, but he had the feeling that this was a better compliment from Peter regardless. Instead, he pulled back as Peter moved forward, letting the older man chase him until they shifted positions and he was the one pinned against the arm of the couch. He had no idea what to do with his hands now, though - it was hard enough finding some place to put them when he had to use them to hold himself up, but now that wasn't a problem anymore - and he ended up flailing for a moment before finally dragging his hands back up to the front of Peter's shirt. He slowly gathered the thin fabric in his hands, tugging at it more than he was tugging it off. Peter took pity on him and pulled back, reaching over his head to gather his shirt in his fists and drag it off, letting it drop on the floor near Stiles' shirt.

Last time he saw Peter without a shirt he was still a little well-done, and he was suddenly glad that wouldn't be the image seared into his mind for eternity. He thought this was a better picture. Stiles ran his fingers through the coarse black hair. It was amazing how he suddenly knew _exactly_ what to do with his hands.

"I take it you approve?" Peter murmured as he leaned in to trail a few biting kisses across Stiles' jaw.

"Hm? Oh..." he hummed, tipping his head further to the side. "Yeah," he answered, trying to force his brain to process words again. "It's good."

He was understandably a little distracted and having trouble remembering how to speak. He thought that Peter should take pity on him and let him communicate in grunts if he was going to kiss like that, with teeth scraping the sensitive skin of Stiles' throat. Peter just chuckled against his skin, nuzzling down further until he'd reached Stiles' collarbone, his fingers now deftly undoing the front of Stiles' jeans. He lifted his hips a little and Peter took the invitation eagerly, jerking Stiles' jeans from his hips and taking his shorts with them. Being naked never really bothered him - it had been a fight just to keep clothes on him until he was about eleven and Stiles always thought that he never completely grew out of the impulse. Peter didn't seem to mind either, judging by the way his hands slid slowly over the inside of Stiles' thighs and then back up his sides, ignoring everywhere that Stiles really wanted him to touch.

That was probably for the best, though. This was going a little fast and Stiles didn't want Peter to think that two beers turned him into a slut (that was tequila and tequila was a mistake he was never going to make again). He didn't want to slow down, though. Regardless of whether he might regret it afterwards or not, Peter was paying attention to him and Stiles was just drunk enough to admit how much he needed that; not to mention that this was the first time his brain had slowed down enough and his body had calmed down enough for him to really appreciated the attention he was getting. He just really needed someone's complete focus and attention for five minutes and Peter gave him that.

When Peter finally lifted his head from where he'd been dragging a bruise out of Stiles' throat, he responded with a plaintive whine and his fingers in the older man's hair, trying to draw him up a little.

"We're not going to, uh..."

Peter shook his head, "Not if you don't want to," he muttered, nipping at Stiles' lower lip. "I can do other things."

"That'd be good," he replied, toes curling in the fabric of Peter's jeans. "I've just..."

"I know."

"And I'm not sure..."

"I _know_ ," he repeated, sliding a hand between them to flick open the button on his fly and shove the zipper down. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do."

Stiles snorted, trying not to get distracted by Peter wiggling out of his jeans. "Oh, so suggesting I wait for Derek and giving me beer and conveniently mentioning that you're more available than him and the... thing... with my wrist, that wasn't part of some big conspiracy to get in my pants, then?"

Peter didn't even bother trying to look shocked at the accusation, he just kicked his jeans to the floor and shifted to kneel between Stiles' legs on the couch. "Are you complaining?" he asked.

"No," he shook his head. "Not even a little."

"Then why are you talking?" Peter retorted.

It was because Stiles had a tendency to ramble aimlessly when he was nervous and, no matter how much he wanted this, there was no getting around the fact that Peter was not only twice his age but he was also a former alpha and could probably rip Stiles in half if he wanted to. He'd gotten over his fear of the other man, but what took its place was apparently a deep attraction that he had no explanation for or wish to deny. He knew that the kinds of chemicals that responded to frightening situations were the same that responded to other kinds of heart-racing excitement, so maybe he hadn't even noticed when the shift happened in the first place. He had to believe that if he didn't want this, he wouldn't have let it get this far, though - no matter how persuasive Peter was or how effortlessly Stiles apparently fell right into his clutches. But he was still a teenage boy and he honestly wasn't that fussy about who touched him.

He let his hands fall to Peter's shoulders, sliding down a little so his head rest against the arm of the couch and his knee bent slightly against the back, the other leg still trapped under the older man. But Peter wasn't moving yet, like he was waiting for Stiles to make the first move now. He chewed on the inside of his lip, hands slowly moving down over Peter's chest again, feeling the muscles in his chest and then his stomach flex as his fingers moved over them. He wasn't sure if Peter meant for him to touch, but the older man was holding himself up just enough that he could slip his hands between them and reach if he wanted to. It was easier just to reach for himself, though, and considering how many times he and Scott had jerked off in the same room, he wasn't shy at all about wrapping his hand around himself and starting to stoke slowly.

Peter rolled his shoulders forward enough that he could look down between them and watch, still holding himself up with his hands on either side of Stiles' shoulders. He hummed softly to himself, canting his head to the side.

"You enjoyed the wrist thing?" he asked thoughtfully

Stiles had almost forgotten that he'd said anything about it and, without losing rhythm (because, again, he was a teenage boy - he could do this through a natural disaster if the urge was there), and glanced back up to meet Peter's gaze. "Yeah," he murmured. "I mean, I don't know why, but..." Stiles flexed his thighs, pushing up into his own hand, skin rolling back to show the slick pink tip. He made his point, he could tell by the way Peter stifled a growl and nodded.

"Interesting," he breathed, and when Stiles hummed curiously, he snapped his gaze up again, eyes a little bluer. "Nothing," he murmured, "it's just an interesting erogenous zone to have. There are a lot of nerves there, highly sensitized, under thin flesh... but so often ignored in favor of move overt areas of pleasure."

Peter shifted back on his knees, reaching down for Stiles' hand again and pulled it slowly away from his body. Stiles' fingers were already wet, but that didn't seem to bother Peter any as he raised the boy's hand to his mouth and sucked each of his fingers into his mouth. His tongue searched out the tender flesh between them, then swiped slowly across his palm. It should have felt gross, he thought, but instead, the wet warmth felt like it ran straight through his bloodstream to his dick. And that was all before he reached Stiles' wrist again. It hadn't occurred to him before, but this was the same one that Peter had grabbed when he offered him the bite. Now, blue eyes shining, he tipped his head and dragged slightly sharpened teeth across the skin.

Stiles sucked in a breath, shuddering, hips involuntarily rolling up as his head dropped back. It was perfect, just the right combination of sensations all folded in at once, leaving him dizzy and wanting more. Fortunately, Peter seemed more than happy to oblige, grasping Stiles wrist tightly while he started biting and sucking again, bringing the other hand around to wrap around the boy's dick. He didn't stroke as much as he rolled his thumb up and down the underside, just below the tip, slicking precum across the head. The contact was all too much and Stiles groaned, digging his heels into the couch, pushing up into Peter's hand. But Peter just smirked, nipping sharply.

"You don't want it," he murmured against the skin.

"No, I do..." Stiles whined, "I really, really do want it..."

Peter chuckled, his eyes going lidded for a moment as he shook his head. "I know you want _that_ ," he breathed. "I meant the bite." He kept kissing and sucking softly between phrases, making sure Stiles stayed right on the edge but didn't have enough to fall over it until _he_ was ready to let him. "I thought you just refused me out of spite... or some heroic bravado... or a wish to keep up a sense of control..." he started, and Stiles didn't care what he was getting at as long as he got there, quick, so Stiles could get there too. "But that's not it at all."

He squirmed, kicking Peter in the leg partly by accident but also partly out of frustration. "Okay," he huffed, "tell me why... _please_?"

But Peter just hummed again, tongue swooping across his wrist, chasing his pulse. "As soon as I figure it out, I will."

He bit down, not nearly hard enough to really tear skin, but it would leave a mark, maybe even a pretty bruise, and at the same moment he slid his fingers upwards, rolling slowly to the very tip of Stiles' dick. His hips jerked and he came abruptly across his stomach, with a faintly strangled moan. Peter didn't stop moving, though, not until Stiles was strung out enough that he could little more than moan and squirm beneath him. It didn't take long to do either because _no one_ had paid this kind of attention to him and it was a long way from taking care of things himself. Only then did he slide his hand away, lifting his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean, and lay Stiles' hand carefully across his chest. Peter drew his hand back and wrapped around himself, already hard and slick.

It took Stiles a while to recover enough that he could turn his attention back to Peter, watching his hand move in slow, deliberate strokes, twisting and clenching in very specific ways. He could pick out the formula in just a few seconds of watching and hesitantly reached forward to nudge Peter's hand away. He only moved long enough to let Stiles wrap around him, then placed his hand on top to guide Stiles' movements until he was able to keep up on his own. With his hands now free, he was able to go back to touching, fingertips roaming over the boy's skin and searching out every sensitive spot and place that would make him groan. The distraction seemed to speed him along too since he wasn't thinking about the effort he was putting into it or trying to last for someone else. Stiles had already gotten his, and would probably get it again before anyone got back, so he didn't have to try to take his time.

When he finally did come, streaking across Stiles' stomach as well, it was with a shudder of a growl rumbling deep in his chest, sending another excited thrill through Stiles. He had to admit that it was a little strange being with someone like this, much less someone who hadn't shown him any obvious attention (though thinking back, there was definitely some attention regardless) before now. He kept moving until the rumble of Peter's groans died down, then pulled his hand away to inspect the mess across his body.

"Usually I only have to clean up after myself," he murmured, looking up with a lopsided smirk.

Peter grunted softly in response, dropping back against the other side of the couch and nudging Stiles' thigh with his foot. "You've got time," he answered, reaching for Stiles' half-finished beer on the table.

He stopped midway through dragging his fingers through the mess on his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"Derek didn't text," he grinned, tipping the beer back, "I told him to go run with the betas, make sure they were all they settled in a safe before he came back. I don't expect him for several more hours."

Stiles stared back at him, "You're evil," he said.

Peter just laughed, jostling Stiles' knees with the side of his leg. "I've been called a lot worse."


End file.
